


#Forced

by lucymonster



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Porn, F/M, First Time, Maximum Edgelord Kylo Ren, Pornstars, Rape Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16012163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: As one of the adult industry’s most bankable stars, Ben Solo has made his career doing things on camera that most men don’t do in their wildest dreams. He has natural charisma, a tireless work ethic, and a flair for sadism that some of his viewers find almost too realistic – not that it stops them from subscribing to his website.Rey isn’t interested in any kind of career. She just needs enough money to support herself while she scours the neon streets of Vegas for the father whose gambling habit stole him from her as a child.Neither of them is looking for romance on the set of a hardcore abduction porno. It just happens that way.





	#Forced

Ben checks Twitter while he waits for his coffee. Doing this in public isn’t always the best idea, but the cafe’s half empty and he’s standing off to the side of the counter with a whole display stand of Breakfast Blend Medium Roast for cover, so anyone who manages to catch a glimpse of his screen from here deserves what they get.

He scrolls idly through the usual bullshit on his feed: promos, selfies, tacky giveaways. First Order Productions has shared a preview clip of Phasma spreading her ass cheeks for the camera. Hux has shared a grainy photo of his cat, captioned _best pussy I’ve seen all day_. Ben’s own most recent post – a behind-the-scenes pic from yesterday’s shoot, of him lacing Jenni Grievous into her ambitiously tiny corset – has racked up a few hundred likes since yesterday. His mentions are full of unsolicited nudes and one very persistent guy who wants advice on how to get his girlfriend off. Ben rolls his eyes and taps out a retweet: 

> Really want to please your girl? Buy her a subscription to my website, she’ll love it.

He hits post, gives it a few moments for the reactions to start coming in, then adds: 

> Girls, why put up with his fumbling when you could fuck a PRO instead? Check @FOofficial for deets on our next casting call.

Privately, Ben’s not a huge fan of the First Order’s amateur casting calls. Amateurs are a pain to shoot with. They’re picky and self-conscious and way too emotional, and they don’t understand the hard work that goes into a successful porn shoot. For them it’s a fantasy: show up on a glitzy set, put on some cute lingerie and let an oversexed man with a big dick turn them into a goddess for an afternoon. They don’t want to know about the awkward angles or the long, boring, genital-numbing hours it takes to get that perfect shot. They don’t want to know about menstrual sponges or anal bleaching or early morning enema appointments. They don’t want to know about Ben’s careful six-step ballsack shaving ritual for warding off ingrowns.

But selling fantasy is the whole point of the job. Ben’s fanbase is different from a lot of men in straight porn, firstly in that he actually has one, secondly in that it includes so many women. As far as they’re all concerned Ben lives and breathes the lifestyle of Kylo Ren, smirking full-time Dom and walking, talking erection who’s ready to fuck anyone anywhere at any time. Ben’s whole professional life revolves around keeping that illusion alive.

So he plays along. The amateur shoots are tedious, but they don’t happen very often, and every time he releases one his subscription numbers skyrocket.

'Your coffee, sir,' says the barista, happily oblivious to the influx of _fuck me daddy_ and _dm plsss_ now crowding Ben’s notifications.

He takes the drink to go and closes out of Twitter to check his email inbox as he walks, skimming through booking reminders and event invitations and ads for cheap Viagra that have slipped through his spam filter. Snoke has sent through a note confirming him for Sexpo next month, and a list of pre-approved questions for his _FHM_ interview on Friday. His favourite positions, fitness routine and tips for lasting longer are all on the list. His personal life, coworkers and relationship status are not.

Good – he could answer all of these in his sleep. Doggy style is a classic for a reason. Try calisthenics for a more dynamic workout. Change up your rhythm and take plenty of breaks.

Cantina Studio is a large converted warehouse about five minutes from the Las Vegas strip. He doesn’t shoot here often. The head producer, Maz Kanata, is an unlikely friend of Ben’s father, and although to the best of his knowledge they don’t keep in touch these days, he doesn’t like the thought of those streams crossing. But he’s getting paid a lot to show up today, almost double his usual rate for a hardcore kidnapping scene that’s supposed to help boost Cantina’s flagging sales in the dark fetish market. They’ve flown in Dara Maul from LA to star with him.

Ben doesn’t know Dara all that well, but they’ve worked together before and he appreciates the fact that she’s up for … well, pretty much anything. Last night he dropped her a message, and they chatted back and forth for a while about how they might develop the scene. Just normal shop talk. 

> Dara Maul: fyi im not doing anal at all this shoot, saving my ass for a gangbang on fri
> 
> Kylo Ren: Cool sure
> 
> Kylo Ren: Mind if I bring a gun? I’ve got a scene in mind where I shove the barrel in your mouth and make you suck it

Ben’s police-issue Glock 19 is one of his favourite props. It hasn’t been fired since the day he bought it, but it adds a beautiful edge of fear to some of his more extreme scenes.

> Dara Maul: sounds hot just dont chip my teeth with it lol
> 
> Dara Maul: and im not helping clean out the saliva after
> 
> Kylo Ren: It’s only four inches around, I think your teeth will be fine

He’s running through camera angles in his mind when he crosses the warehouse threshold and nearly slams into Maz’s assistant producer. Justin Plom is in visible disarray, his pencil mustache beaded with sweat and his eyes wild beneath his manicured eyebrows.

'Kylo, Kylo, so good to see you,' he says, and even his voice is a weak imitation of its usual oily cheer. He runs a nervous hand through his silver-striped hair. 'Come right on through, we’re almost ready to get started. Just a few teensy contract adjustments we have to make, shouldn’t take too long, why don’t you take a seat and finish that coffee and we’ll let you know as soon as we–'

'Contract adjustments?' Ben says sharply. It’s been a long time since he’s had a producer try to fleece him – some of them will cut any corner they can get away with, but most know better than to mess with someone on Snoke’s roster. And he wouldn’t have expected it from a major studio like Cantina.

'Oh, not to yours, don’t you worry about that.' Plom smiles thinly. 'Your agent has been … uh, _extremely_ diligent about locking in your contract. No, I’m afraid we’ve had a last-minute casting change. Poor Dara got in a car accident on her way to the airport. She’s not hurt, just shaken up, but she wasn’t able to make her flight and so we’ve had to ask one of our other stars to fill in for her today. _Very_ pretty girl, talented, charming, you’re going to love working with her.'

Ben raises an eyebrow. He’s not the best at paperwork – Snoke usually looks after that side of things – but he’s pretty sure his standard contract includes a pre-vetting clause for co-stars. With his high visibility and the fringe nature of a lot of his content, it would be a career disaster if he ended up on camera with some bleary-eyed Xanax queen who’ll be on breakfast shows three years from now talking about their work together as a shameful low point in her struggle for sobriety. As if this industry needs any more controversy.

He’s also pretty sure his standard contract includes a non-refundable deposit for his time, which explains Plom’s look of desperation. If they don’t get their footage today, they’re out of pocket for booking him _and_ they’ll get hit again next time they need him, when Snoke uses the inconvenience as an excuse to jack up his booking fee. Switching actresses is a dodgy move, but for them it’s clearly the lesser of two evils.

And for Ben – well. He’ll need to judge that for himself. 'What’s her name?'

'Uh…' Plom hesitates just a little too long. 'Kerry. Lovely girl. Very pretty, lots of charisma, gorgeous pair of–'

'Kerry? What kind of name is Kerry?'

Plom sighs, and jerks his thumb in the direction of the corridor. 'She’s in the break room, waiting for us to finalise her contract. If you’ll only wait a minute, I can introduce–'

Ben’s gone before he finishes the sentence, taking his coffee but leaving the gym bag with his gun and toiletries on the table. He may not be here for long enough to need it.

He finds Kerry – if that’s really what she’s calling herself – perched on an armchair in the break room, fiddling with her phone. She looks up the moment he enters.

Pretty is not the word Ben would have chosen. Pretty implies an airy, delicate quality that this girl absolutely does not possess. She’s _gorgeous_ , in a rough, outdoorsy kind of way, like she's just stopped by the studio for a quick fuck in between mountain hikes. Her face is tanned and her cheeks have a hint of rosy colour to them. She’s smiling, but a little too widely – nervous. He’s seen that look on plenty of faces before.

'Hello!' Her voice is crisp and bright and very British. 'You must be Kylo Ren. I’m R– I mean, uh, Kira. Kira Kill.'

Well, it’s better than Kerry. But it doesn’t suit her at all. _Kira Kill_ sounds like some mopey fetish siren with a tattooed sternum and a lip ring, not this down-to-earth girl with muscular arms and clear skin and nowhere near enough makeup for the harsh studio lighting. An unwelcome suspicion is forming in Ben’s mind. 'I’ve never heard of you.'

Kira’s smile falters a little. 'Yes, well,' she says, 'this is actually my first time. My first time on camera, I mean. Obviously I’ve had sex before.'

'Obviously,' Ben echoes. Sometimes he really hates being right.

She’s a fucking amateur.

He should probably walk away. This is so, so far outside the bounds of his contract. But … she really is gorgeous. Other than her inexperience, she’s not raising any immediate red flags. He might have to adjust his expectations with some of the more extreme elements – gunplay will be off the menu, for one – but that’s not the end of the world. And he’ll be getting paid.

Work is work and it’s not about fun or preference – but it’s also not like he chose this career because he _isn’t_ down to fuck.

'Okay,' he says, mostly for his own benefit. And then to Kira: 'Guess we’d better workshop. Any hard limits I should know about?'

* * *

 Rey started her day this morning perched on the edge of the bathtub, talking to Finn through the door while she checked every inch of her body for stray hairs she might have missed in last night’s vigorous waxing session.

'I’m not saying you should be ashamed,' Finn said in a tone of carefully modulated patience. 'I’m saying the stigma is real, and once that footage is out there in the world, it’s there forever. You can’t take it back if you change your mind.'

'I’m not going to change my mind,' Rey said, angling the mirror to get a better view of her newly hairless labia. 'Anyway, you’re one to talk. You’ve been doing porn for how many years now?'

Finn sighed. 'Yeah, and I love my job. Which is lucky, since it’s the only thing I’ll ever be qualified to do. You’re different. You’ve got prospects, Rey. What about your apprenticeship? You think they’ll want to keep you if they find out you’re naked on the internet?'

Her apprenticeship, what a joke. Rey doesn’t need an apprenticeship to teach her how to fix a car. She’s been lifting bonnets for Unkar Plutt since she was nine years old. But a tourist visa could only buy her so much time, and she needed an excuse to outstay her welcome in America. It took all her life savings to get here, and even that wouldn’t have been enough if Finn – impossibly kind, impossibly friendly, impossibly trusting Finn – hadn’t answered her ad for a housemate and completely refused to freak out when he learned about the baggage that came with the offer. They’ve lived together for a few months now and it feels like they’ve been friends their whole lives.

Rey ran a skeptical finger between her legs and called through the door, 'My vag still feels kind of waxy.'

'Baby powder,' Finn returned calmly. 'Don’t change the subject, I’m serious.'

'So am I. I’m dead broke, Finn. I still haven’t paid you back for the bond deposit. I’m barely making rent–'

'I’m not worried about rent.'

'I’m sick of living off instant noodles.'

'We can pool for groceries. It’s way cheaper when you’re shopping for two.'

'Why are you being like this?'

'Because this industry is crazy hard on women, and I don’t want you to do something you might regret just because you’re worried about paying me back a few hundred dollars. It’s really not that big a deal. You can fix my car for me and we’ll call it even.'

But it’s more than just a few hundred dollars. It’s Rey’s livelihood, it’s her independence – it’s her pride. And so that’s how she got to where she is now, in the small, sunny break room of Cantina Studios, trying to get her head around the whirlwind that has hit since she walked through the door. Her original contract – a simple college-girls-gone-wild scenario that made a virtue of her wide-eyed newness to the world of adult film – is a thing of the past. Due to some internal catastrophe, the studio is short a female star for what the man called Plom described as a _fairly bread-and-butter dungeon scene, nothing too scary, I promise you'll be in good hands the whole time_. They’ve asked her to step in and they’ve more than doubled her paycheck for it. Other than that, though, her briefing has been minimal.

For instance, Plom neglected to mention that her new co-star is _huge_. Not just tall, but broad and muscular with shoulders that look like he could bench press a truck. Which doesn’t always guarantee a guy is packing, but this one does porn. Rey can extrapolate.

And maybe that would be a point in his favour if she were here recreationally, but she’s got a job to do. An hours-long intensive marathon sex job that she really just wants to go as smoothly as possible.

Then there’s the issue of his personal presentation. Every item of clothing on Kylo Ren, from his heavy-soled combat boots to his sleek leather jacket, is black. His fitted black jeans are held up by a studded black belt. A pair of black-rimmed aviators are hooked on the neckline of his black v-neck shirt. Even his hair is black, although that part looks natural. But wearing it jaw-length and feathered like a gloomy curtain around his face is clearly a deliberate aesthetic choice.

Goth meets gym nut meets Call of Duty fanboy. He’s also, perhaps not surprisingly, a textbook manspreader: he’s taken the couch across from her, the _whole_ couch, just planted himself right in the middle with his legs sprawled wide and one arm draped carelessly over the backrest. His face itself – with its dark eyes, large nose and sullen mouth – does nothing at all to soften the picture. He’s not ugly, exactly, but it’s hard to feel much spark of attraction when he’s putting all that effort into making himself look intimidating.

Rey’s never been the type to intimidate easily. Which is lucky, because the only thing Mr Black Ops seems to want to talk about is how much torture she’s willing to endure for her paycheck. Not _my feet hurt and I want this shift to end_ torture. Actual torture. With whips and chains and studded paddles. He doesn’t even seem to think it’s weird.

'There are two ways we can spin this scene,' he tells her with a very serious expression. She’s getting the vibe that smiling isn’t a big part of his repertoire. 'The original plan was for you to cry pretty much the whole way through, but if that’s too hard, we can dial it back and make it more your standard ravishment fantasy. I’ll still force you at first, but then you can warm up to me and start getting turned on by it. That’ll make it easier for you to–'

'I’m fine with the first plan,' Rey says, probably more sharply than she needs to. She doesn’t like the way he’s talking to her, talking _down_ to her, like she’s vulnerable and delicate and can’t possibly understand what she’s gotten herself into. Like sure, he’s happy to go hammer and tongs on her ass with all his bondage gear, but he also wants to pretend he’s being a gentleman about it. Rey may not be an expert but she’s pretty sure ball gags and nipple clamps don’t work that way.

Anyway, she’s not going to play that ridiculous secretly-wanted-it game. If he’s going to fake-rape her, he can fake-rape her properly.

Kylo just shrugs. Her testiness bounces right off him. 'Okay, then. Do you know how to deepthroat?'

God, this is a lot. Rey didn’t come here today expecting to get caught up in some elaborate BDSM rape fantasy. She came here expecting to spend a couple of hours zoned out and moaning automatically while some college jock-looking guy rammed her from behind.

But there’s only so long they can spend on planning. When Kylo pushes himself to his feet and says, 'About what you’re wearing,' Rey knows her window of escape is closing.

She’s really doing this.

* * *

 'Kira, keep your hair out of the frame,' Plom calls from his vantage point over the cameraman’s shoulder. 'You’re blocking the best view.'

With a quiet huff, Kira takes her mouth off Ben’s cock and tosses her head to get the hair out of her face. Her hands are still bound firmly behind her. 'Can’t I tie it back again? It’s only going to keep getting in the way.'

She had it styled in a bun for their intro scene, but Ben let it down while he was cutting the rest of the clothes off her fake-chloroformed body. Aside from how hot it looks all tousled like that, a bit of forced grooming suits the character Ben’s playing: the angry, twisted loner preening like a kid with a doll over the captive object of his obsession. He’s been watching this girl for weeks, fantasising about the moment when he’d finally have her all to himself. Now she’s his and he can arrange her just the way he wants.

He’s leaning heavily on the psycho-thriller aspect of this scene, because Kira, despite her bravado, turned a telling shade of ashen grey when Ben ran her through the list of kinks he’d been planning to do with Dara. Cantina wants something scary and extreme; Kira wants something cruisy and painless. This is the compromise Ben’s brokered between them.

'I’ve got you,' a wardrobe girl tells Kira, and rushes in with a can of hairspray. 'This’ll hold it back.'

It takes only a few seconds to avert the oncoming hair crisis, and then it’s back to the blowjob. This has been going pretty well so far: Kira has a gorgeous mouth and a soft, slack throat and this toe-curling thing she does with her tongue that kind of makes Ben want to ask for her number. She’s gagging a lot, just for dramatic effect – he hasn’t felt her actually spasm once. But she’s getting tired. Plom can’t tell yet, but Ben definitely can, because her teeth are starting to scrape and he has to hide a wince when one of his deeper thrusts makes her jaw clench around him.

Partly out of sympathy but mostly out of a pressing desire not to leave set with bite marks on his dick, Ben pulls out and gives her mouth another rest while he cock-slaps her face a bit. A fine string of spit hangs from Kira’s lips. She glares up at him, eyes full of very convincing hatred.

'Cut!' Plom calls. 'Kira, that’s beautiful work. Where are your tears, though? Let’s get some eyedrops over here, I want to see that makeup run.'

The plot goes like this: after snatching Kira from an empty alleyway, he’s brought her home for his personal use. They’re shooting the blowjob in one of Cantina’s regular living room sets – he’s dragged her inside, she’s come around from the chloroform and he hasn’t been able to resist getting started. From here they’ll move down to the dungeon set where he’ll strap her to a chair and torture her for a while. With Dara that was going to mean some fairly hardcore pussy caning, choking and creative gunplay. So far Kira has agreed to a light spanking ('Just don’t hit me for real, okay?'). After that he’ll bend her over and fuck her a few ways while she begs for mercy.

The fucking’s going to be fine, that part always is. What worries Ben is the middle part, the torture scene. It’s way too vanilla for the audience they’re aiming at, who can type ‘spanking’ into Google and get millions of perfectly good hits for free. They need to do something to make this scene stand out for a market hooked on extremity and violence.

A lot of it will come down to Kira’s performance. Ben can act as scary as he wants, but it’s up to her to sell the image of an anguished victim trapped in her erotic worst nightmare.

The cameras roll again. Kira, eyes now streaming with fake tears, emits a muffled sob as Ben grabs her by the oversprayed hair and thrusts back into her mouth. He’s softened a bit on the eyedrop break, so he makes a virtue of it and fucks her face hard while it’s easier to take. 'Just relax,' he says in-character as Kira stiffens up against the onslaught. 'Don’t fight it. You know I can take whatever I want.'

It’ll be murder on her neck if she keeps bracing like that. Better just to play the ragdoll. And she’s meant to still be groggy from the chloroform.

There’s a slightly longer break while the film crew relocates to the dungeon set to set up the rest of the shoot. Sound checks, screen checks, lighting adjustments. Kira’s nerves make another appearance when she catches sight of the restraint chair he’ll be strapping her into. It’s a high-tech looking steel and black leather model with built-in shackles, a head vice and mechanised foot stirrups. It has other features too – a ball gag headpiece, a swap-out spiked seat cover, a bracket underneath for an attachable dildo – but going by the look on her face, they won’t be needing any of those today.

'Quick release is under the wrist cuffs,' Ben says, showing her where to find the tiny latch that will free her hands in case of emergency. 'Just say the word if you need to tap out – our schedule’s already off the rails so there’s no point rushing through now. You might as well be comfortable.'

'Comfortable,' says Kira, eyeing the head vice.

'You going to be okay?'

'Of course,' she says. Her face is smeared with run-off makeup, but her eyes are clear and defiant when she looks at him. 'You should be worrying more about yourself. I noticed you were, uh … flagging a bit at the end there.'

As if to make her point clear, she looks down at his cock – tucked away inside his jeans for now – then slowly back up at his face. A pretty bold attempt at shaming from someone whose tits are hanging clean out of her blouse.

She’s new to this, sure, but how does she think erections _work_? 'Hey, enjoy the reprieve while it lasts. It makes your job easier.'

'Of course it does,' says Kira loftily.

'I don’t have that problem.'

'Gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.'

'You haven’t touched a nerve. I’m just saying, I don’t–'

Over by the suspension rig, Plom claps his hands together like an over-eager schoolmaster. 'Alright, everyone, time to get back into it. Kylo, what’s that face for?'

* * *

'You’re so lonely,' Kylo croons. His lips brush the shell of Rey’s ear while his hand works on her breast, kneading and pinching in a strange, minimal-contact way that Rey can only assume is meant to look good on camera. 'So afraid.'

His other is on her hip, bunching her skirt up to expose her stocking-clad crotch to the room at large. Can the camera see the goosebumps that are rising on her arms? It’s a strange feeling: distaste and discomfort mixed with a wayward thrill of reactive pleasure. Rey’s nerve endings don’t know that it’s all a set-up, or that this kind of passive submission goes against every single facet of her personality. They’re responding to a simple stimulus.

'Stop,' she grits out. She struggles against the restraints and lets out her best fake sob. 'Please stop.'

'You want me to stop?' Kylo nips her earlobe – there go those wayward nerve endings again – then pulls back and sinks to his knees between Rey’s legs. With practiced hands he grabs her stockings and rips them, first at the crotch, then down each thigh until they’re hanging in shreds held on by her shackles. He hooks a finger inside her panties, teasing for the camera but only barely touching her skin. 'You don’t want me to stop. You’re wet for me already.'

'You’re a monster,' Rey snarls. A second camera is coming in for a close-up of her face, so she scrunches her eyes shut and bares her teeth. She knows exactly what’s about to happen, but it’s still a shock when Kylo tears her panties the same way as her stockings so that suddenly her bare cunt is on display for the whole looming suite of cameras. It’s another shock when he touches her, spreading her folds apart, and – oh. He’s rubbing her entrance with the pad of one finger.

Are you supposed to get turned on filming porn? Is it unprofessional? There are so many questions she should have asked Finn, but of course it’s too late to call him now. _Hey, Finn, how’s your day going? Just wondering, is it normal that getting fingered on camera is kind of accidentally making me wet?_

If this were a normal sexual encounter, Rey would grab Kylo’s hair and maneuver his head between her thighs. But that’s not the job, so instead she stays shackled to her chair and endures the intimate probing that’s calculated far more for visual effect than for her pleasure. He dips a finger inside her and pumps it in and out a few times while she squirms, and then a bunch more times while Plom directs the cameras to pick up just about every possible angle. He spreads her labia wide and adds a second finger, then a third, with lots of awkward pauses so that the detail camera can come in for footage of her muscles fluttering around him and her lube-augmented wetness glistening on his fingers.

He doesn’t touch her clit at all until he decides to start flicking it – much harder than he needs to, in Rey’s opinion – and her yelp only makes him do it again, and again, until she has to break character and tell him to stop for real.

'Sorry,' he says in an undertone, then licks his thumb and uses it to circle her clit in a gentler, soothing motion. It’s an odd way to apologise, but Rey’s body is so confused by the onslaught of almost-but-not-quite-erotic stimulation that she goes along with it without really thinking.

'I want some more of that pain face, Kira,' says Plom.

Rey bares her teeth and scrunches her eyes closed and tries to look suitably distraught as Kylo lucks across a back-and-forth rhythm that sparks a pleasant little shiver in her core. 'Why are you doing this?' she sobs.

'Because you want me.' Kylo’s voice comes from lower than expected, a puff of air on tender skin. Oh. He’s going to – 'Don’t be afraid, I feel it too.'

He licks the crease of her inner thigh. His hot breath tickles her cunt, and when his mouth finds her clit, she vents the sudden shock of sensation in a whimper that she can only hope sounds pained.

Rey has always loved being eaten out. A hungry mouth can make up for a lot of bad (or weird, awkward, on-camera) sex. In an ideal world she’d be on top and sitting on his face, or lying back comfortably with his head clamped between her thighs. But Kylo’s tongue is outside her control. It’s slick and wet and warm, licking her open, probing, teasing. He’s confident. Coordinated. There’s definite potential in what he’s doing. It’s just that the angle he comes from – strangely off-centre with his head on her left thigh, lapping her cunt from a camera-friendly distance – is barely more than a faint, spiteful tease of the intensity she’d usually expect.

The result is a kind of uncomfortable limbo: she’s turned on for real now, and she can’t turn _off_ because he keeps swirling his tongue around her clit until it throbs with want. But the fact that it’s not building to anything is making her temper start to throb, too.

Which is probably a good thing. She hates this, her character hates this. It’s an assault, a rape, a violation. She sucks in a choked breath and grabs hold of her frustration and says, 'I don’t want you. _Fuck_ you. I’m not giving you anything.'

'We’ll see,' Kylo says. He catches her clit between soft lips and sucks, ever so gently. Rey’s breath catches, and he keeps on sucking while his fingers dig hard into the flesh of her thighs, and it feels _so_ good for the few heady moments before he pulls off and goes back to teasing.

'Fuck you,' she growls, only mostly acting. 'Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.'

'We’ll get there, little whore, don’t you worry.'

 _Little whore_. Ugh. Before Rey’s skin has a chance to stop crawling, Kylo runs the whole length of his tongue over her clit, dragging the hood up so that each brush of contact makes her twitch.

It keeps on going. The cameras roll, the director barks instructions, and Kylo explores every inch of Rey’s most intimate parts like a bored cat playing with its helpless food.

By the time he pulls away, mouth and chin shining wet from his work, she’s so overstimulated that she’s dangerously close to sobbing for real. This was a mistake. She’s approaching a limit, a trembling physical tipping point that’s going to ruin the whole scene and for fuck’s sake, they’ve barely even started yet. Kylo looks up at her from down between her legs. Their eyes meet, and his are dark and piercing as they plan whatever’s coming next in this awful, torturous, _endless_ scene –

'Cut the cameras, Plom,' he says, breaking eye contact to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. 'I need a coffee break.'

The world feels slightly surreal as Rey hits the safety catch on her restraints and frees herself from the chair. Her ordeal ends abruptly as the crew lose all interest in her. Phones and cigarette packs emerge from jeans pockets. There’s a general shuffle towards the door. Kylo is on his way out when he glances back at her and says, 'Coffee for you, Kira?'

Rey blinks. She’s wearing the tatters of her costume, still throbbing and aching and overwhelmed, sopping wet with lube and saliva and her own arousal. Her heart is running at Olympic sprint pace and her legs feel unsteady, and Kylo Ren wants to know if she wants coffee. 'Um, no,' she says, her own voice coming from somewhere in the distance. 'No, thank you, I prefer tea.'

'I think there are teabags in the kitchen–'

'I’ll make my own.'

He shrugs and waits for her, holding the door open, and Rey wishes like hell that he’d just go make his coffee and let her have five blessed minutes of privacy before she’s back on duty. Maybe she can pretend not to like whatever tea’s in the kitchen, and duck out to a cafe or a nearby corner store to grab something else. Except – well. She’s not exactly presentable in her current state.

Kylo looks her up and down, and he must be thinking along the same lines. 'You got a robe or something?'

Fuck, that would have been smart. 'Why bother?' Rey says, full of bravado, hyper-aware of her tits hanging loose out the front of her blouse and her ass peeking out from under the hem of her too-short skirt. Kylo’s still fully dressed, his dignity intact under layers of black leather and denim, and she’s irrationally angry with Finn for not suggesting that she bring something to slip into between takes. How should she have known there’d be coffee breaks? 'Everyone’s already seen the goods.'

'You can borrow mine,' says Kylo, and before she can say anything else he grabs a bundle of soft flannel from his bag and tosses it to Rey.

It’s jet black, of course, and absolutely huge. Feeling awkward and self-conscious, she wraps the bathrobe close around herself and breathes in the newly familiar scent of him. 'Thanks,' she says reluctantly.

Kylo just shrugs, and nods towards the door. 'Kitchen’s this way.'

He’s really not big on hints, this guy.

* * *

Kira perches stiffly on the edge of her break chair, cradling her mug of tea but barely drinking. She’s stressed. Unhappy. It’s rolling off her in waves, and Ben wants to say something encouraging but he has no idea how to breach the defensive walls she’s put up around herself. He can’t explain why, after agreeing to this shoot on a whim, he now feels so invested in making sure it goes well. She’s attractive, that’s true. Talented, but also inexperienced. Fussy and prickly and difficult to work with. And instead of rolling his eyes and getting on with it, Ben’s scrambling to win her over like a schoolboy with a crush.

He called the coffee break because Kira was starting to tremble inside and out in a way that was just a bit too convincing. What worries him is that she didn’t breathe a word about wanting to tap out. Of course, the sex industry has always attracted desperation, but this girl doesn’t give off the needy vibes of someone who’s here because she’s run out of options. As far as he can tell, she’s not trapped by her paycheck – just stubborn. Doesn’t want to look weak. Doesn’t want to admit when too much is too much.

Ben can respect that, but it doesn’t exactly bode well for the rest of their shoot.

'So,' he says, to break the silence and avoid going too deep into his own theories, 'what made you want to get into porn?' His coffee has that stale, watery taste of pre-ground beans left sitting too long in Cantina’s cheap grinder. He should have skipped the kitchen and gone straight to the cafe on the corner, but then he wouldn’t have had an excuse to talk to Kira.

The look she gives him is guarded but steady. It’s an improvement on staring listlessly at her mug. 'My housemate works in the industry,' she says. 'I was looking for a second job, and this one seems to pay better than retail or waitressing.' Then she narrows her eyes. 'Is it really okay for you to ask me that? What if I’d just lost my real job, or I had a tragic childhood or … or a drug problem, or something?'

Her innocent outrage takes the sting out of the stereotype. Mostly. 'Hey, you wanna blow your whole paycheck on coke, it’s none of my business. But I don’t go for that seedy underworld shit. This is a workplace, not a Lifetime movie, and I try to work with girls who see it the same way I do.'

'Girls,' Kira echoes, curling her lip.

'I’m sorry?'

'If we’re old enough to fuck on camera, we’re women. Calling us girls is patronising.'

Ben raises an eyebrow. 'Okay, Germaine Greer,' he says, torn between annoyance and amusement. He’s starting to like this girl. Woman. Whatever. 'But the porn life cycle’s a little different than the rest of the world. You start out as a naughty teen and grow up into a fully-fledged adult girl. As soon as your tits start to sag you’re a MILF, and if you stick it out long enough you eventually become a granny gone wild. Us guys can laugh while we’re young, but let me tell you, there’s a _much_ smaller market for horny grandpas.'

Kira’s mouth move strangely. It twitches at the corners, then pulls into a tight, flat line – she doesn’t want him to know he’s made her laugh. 'Liar,' she says coolly. 'Porn’s full of dirty old men, but I’ve never heard of a _granny gone wild_.'

'I can pull up some footage if you don’t believe me. You should keep an open mind, Kira.'

She pulls another face. 'It’s Rey. Fucking hell, I can’t get used to this Kira Kill thing. I’s too weird.'

Is this her version of opening up? Ben hesitates. It’s not like anyone in the world thinks he was actually christened Kylo Ren, but the thought of taking off the mask in public – on set, no less – is a little strange. Especially given how hard he and Snoke have worked to bury his family name and all its potential for nationwide scandal. His agent won’t exactly be thrilled to learn he’s upended their privacy measures on a split-second impulse.

That’s one hand. But on the other hand, fuck it. 'I’m Ben.'

Rey. It’s a nice name, cheerful and tomboyish – it suits her. She gives him his first glimpse of her actual, non-forced smile, and adjusts the sash of her borrowed bathrobe. 'How long till I have to get naked again?'

'Whenever you’re ready.' He wants to ask if she’s okay to keep on filming, if there’s a way to adjust their plans so she doesn’t go straight back to freaking out, but she gets so huffy every time he suggests she might be anything less than completely invincible. He looks down at his disappointing coffee and wrinkles his nose. 'If you’re impatient, I’m willing to take one for the team and pour the rest of this down the sink.'

'I think I might need another few minutes,' Rey says. 'This is … I mean it’s fine, it’s just a lot to deal with.'

Apparently she’s less invincible if Ben doesn’t mention it first. Interesting. 'If I’m hurting you–'

'You’re not hurting me.' She shrugs, pulling the bathrobe tighter again. 'It’s just a _lot_. Honestly, I don’t know how you can stand drawing it out so long. I’ve never had this much sex before without at least one orgasm to break up the monotony.'

Ben wouldn’t have guessed that one. He barely ever fucks with his own release at the front of his mind – even when he’s not working, his partners tend to expect a certain level of professional competence. He definitely wouldn’t call it monotony, but it must be a shock to the system for someone who’s never had to worry about how long she lasts. 'Do you want me to get you off before we go back? Because I can do that if it makes things easier.'

He mostly means it as a friendly offer, kind of like _let me loosen that corset for you_ , or _let’s take the giant plug out of your ass for a bit_. Just making things more comfortable. But Rey turns red to the roots of her hair, reminding him yet again how different their perspectives are. 'What, here? In the kitchen?'

That’s not an outright no. Okay, Ben would be lying if he said the offer was _purely_ friendly – there’s definitely some self-interest mixed in there as well. His dick and ego twitch a little. 'Why not? We could try another room if you’re worried, but I don’t think anyone’s going to care.'

'Oh. I guess they wouldn’t.' At long last, Rey finds an interest in her cooling cup of tea. She takes a large gulp, splutters a bit, and says, 'Is that normal when you’re doing porn? Fooling around off-set?'

'We don’t worry too much about what’s normal. The whole job’s so fringe, we’d be playing catch-up forever.'

Rey shakes her head. 'Fuck, this is so weird. I can’t believe today’s even happening.'

'Do you want it or not?' The weird part is that Ben cares so much, that he isn’t just happy to sip his coffee and check his phone and recover his stamina in between takes. All his co-stars are hot: finding women hot is the whole point of his career, and being hot is the whole point of theirs. After all these years of acting, he’s perfected the skill of finding women hot in even the most sterile and off-putting scenarios. There’s nothing about Rey on the outside that sets her apart from anyone else. But he feels … drawn. Fixated, almost. He wants to see her moan for real. He wants her to leave set still thinking about him at the end of the day. When he fucks her – which, barring a total meltdown between now and the next take, he’s definitely going to do either way – for some dumb reason he wants her to _want_ it.

He can see her throat bob, and a residue of tea glistens on her lips. 'What the hell,' she says, and her smile is a weird half-step between her warm grin from just now and her anxious grimace from the start of the day. 'Let’s do it.'

She comes around the table to stand in front of him. She looks like she might be about to straddle him, and okay, that’s a thought. That’s definitely a thought. It’s also a really great way to wear her out early in the game and wreck his chances of lasting through to the end of the shoot.

'Lie back on the table,' he says instead, setting his coffee aside. She does, and he takes a few moments to find a comfortable kneeling position in front of her, but with the cameras away he doesn’t have to make a big show of tearing her clothes aside and exposing her. He just nudges her thighs apart, opens the bathrobe like a curtain, and puts his mouth on her before he can change his mind and go back to the straddling plan.

She’s still sopping wet, and she twitches and shudders the moment he makes contact. He strokes her clit with his tongue, softer than he did on set, and she makes a happy little sound – followed by a less happy one and another violent twitch. 'Oh, fucking hell, I’m so overstimulated.'

'Too much?'

'Way too – oof, way too much.'

Ben pulls back from her clit, and gets a better reaction when he moves his attention lower. He licks her open, tasting the sweet-salty tang of her arousal, prodding and teasing with the tip of his tongue. He focuses there for a while, and Rey’s breath hitches and rushes and her thighs start to twitch around his head, but his jaw muscles will wear out long before he can get her off like this.

He tries her clit again, but this time he adds a finger to the mix, pushing inside her just up to the first knuckle and feeling her flutter and clench. That seems to work better, especially when he avoids the swollen bud of her clit and licks gently around the hood instead.

He works on her slowly, taking it easy. She likes it when he pushes in deeper, burying a finger inside her and stroking, but she hisses and recoils when he touches her clit too directly. She really is overstimulated. Her hands fist in his hair and tug at his scalp and she moans for real when he adds a second finger.

She needs something more than just his mouth and fingers. That’s becoming obvious. The challenge is how to do it without sabotaging himself in the process – Ben’s good at his job, but he’s also human, and each breathy little sound from Rey pulls on something inside him until he’s taut and flushed with ill-timed want. His mind offers up a helpful slideshow of things they could be doing if he didn’t have to hold out and keep fucking for god knows how much longer.

Self-discipline, that’s the key. Rey whines when he pulls away. 'Hey, I’m still not–'

'I know,' he says. He reaches down to unzip his fly and jerks his cock a few times to make sure it’s ready – no problem there. He breathes hot air on Rey’s cunt and she shudders all over. 'Come sit on my lap.'

Knowing what he knows of her temperament, it’s a mark of how desperate Rey is that she does what she’s told without a single word of snark. Tense and quivering, she lets him pull her back to his chair with him and turn her around, arranging her backwards so that she’s positioned right over him with the bathrobe bunched up around her waist. He lines his cock up and pulls her down onto him so she’s flush in his lap, facing away with his arm around her waist holding her steady and his cock buried deep inside her.

Ben scrunches his eyes shut. It’s not too bad – it’s _good_ , dizzyingly good, and he has to remind himself sternly that there’s still a lot of filming to go before the cumshot at the end, that right now, this is about Rey. He rolls his hips underneath her – not really fucking, just moving inside her, giving her needy cunt something to clench around. She seizes the offer with gusto that draws a shaky breath from Ben’s throat. Fuck, this angle makes her tight.

Rey makes a new noise: not a high-pitched pornstar sound effect but an honest throaty grunt as she rocks in his lap and says, 'Jesus Christ, I’m so close it hurts.'

'I got you, come on.' Ben lets her take the lead, grinding in his lap to her own unsteady rhythm. He reaches down to toy with her clit again, just very gently, and Rey gasps and swears and rocks a little harder. He can feel her muscles flexing, can feel her heat and wetness as she rides him.

Ben’s favourite part of sex – better than the physical build-up, maybe even better than his own orgasm – is the white-hot thrill of watching his partner fall apart on his cock. Of knowing that it’s him, _his_ body, that’s giving her that release. Rey wasn’t kidding about being close, and it’s not long until he feels her spasm hard around him, rigid and sobbing for breath in his lap, clawing at his arm as he teases every last spark of pleasure from her clit. When the aftershocks stop she lets out a long, slow sigh and sags back into his chest.

She’s thoroughly distracted, which is good, because Ben need a moment to hide his face in her hair and breathe. His cock twitches inside her, and he grits his teeth and bites his lip and holds very still until he’s sure he can move without losing control.

Then, reluctantly, he eases her up off him. The loss of her warmth is an aching blow, but the way she’s shaking is decent consolation. 'Feel any better?'

'Fucking hell,' says Rey in a wobbly voice.

* * *

It feels completely different when they go back on set. The lights are no less glarey, and she’s still just as exposed in a room of fully clothed strangers – but Rey’s body has changed, her mindset has changed, _Ben_ has changed. Thanks to their sojourn in the kitchen, she’s seen a little glimpse of what he’s like when he’s not putting it on for the camera. Maybe it shouldn’t matter. But it really does.

The spanking scene isn’t as bad as she expected. When they first discussed it she’d envisioned some kind of naughty child-across-the-lap scenario, but what actually ends up happening is that Ben strips her completely naked and simulates smacking the shit out of her in every conceivable degrading position. Objectively it’s horrifying, but the way they’re doing it – the tricks and techniques, the sleight of hand and clever acting – interests Rey so much that she quickly stops feeling uncomfortable and immerses herself in the challenge.

It takes a few tries to get the timing of the face slaps right, but Ben’s hand always stops a hair’s breadth away from actually hitting her. She quickly learns to jerk her head and yelp at the right time so it looks realistic. He drags her around by the hair, pushes her to the ground, knees her in the back and pretends to beat her ass while she cries and begs for mercy. He flips her over, parts her legs as wide as they’ll go and slaps her inner thighs, her cunt, her stomach, her tits. Hard enough to sting but not hard enough to cross the line.

He’s finally taken his jacket and shirt off. When she’s not face down on the carpet, Rey gets an up-close view of his muscular body (which she’d expected) and his full sleeve black-and-grey tattoo (which she hadn’t, but it doesn’t surprise her). The whole thing is a twisted gothy horrorscape: clawed hands and crossed blades and demonic figures, capped by a large skull-like helmet face that looks like it’s melting down over his shoulder.

'Nice ink,' she says on a breather, tapping the skull thing in its empty eye sockets. Maybe nice is the wrong word. It’s distinctive, certainly. Striking. Technically well executed.

Ben briefly forgets to look like an angry rapist. 'Thanks,' he says. 'You like Vader?'

'What’s a vader?'

He deflates a little. 'It’s a band. It’s _the_ band. They defined the last decade of metal music and pioneered a whole new style of–'

'Okay, guys,' Plom calls. 'I want that tit-slapping scene from the top.'

It’s far more involved than the chair scene, this part. There are a lot of pauses, a lot of re-takes, a lot of adjustments. Rey rubs her skin to redden it, and the makeup artist does some skillful colour work to make her look properly bruised and battered. Ben is Kylo Ren again, creepy and vicious on every take, aloof in between. But in brief moments when the cameras are off he’ll squeeze her shoulder and murmur, 'Still okay?', and it’s becoming clear now that he doesn’t actually mean to belittle her. He can’t seem to stop his voice from sounding cruel and haughty no matter how he uses it. But he’s trying to be supportive.

Once Plom’s happy with the torture footage, they move onto a strange kind of wooden frame that wouldn’t look out of place on a construction site. Ben pushes her over it almost double, cuffs her hands to a support beam and slaps her ass a few more times for good measure. Rey’s pulse spikes as he tilts her hips up, spreads her lips and spits on her pussy.

'Relax,' Ben orders her in-character. 'What’s one more cock to a whore like you? Deep down you know you want this. It’s all you’re good for. It’s all you’ll ever be.'

Then he lines up and pushes inside her.

Her body yields with ease after all the warm-up she’s had. Rey breathes deep between her howls of protest, and as long as she relaxes her pelvic muscles, even this extreme angle isn’t too bad. He fucks her hard but not deep, gripping her hips and crooning a fresh string of degrading insults, and she’s stretched almost to her limit around his girth – but only almost. As long as he doesn’t bottom out inside her, she can take plenty more of this. He seems to know exactly how to control the depth.

He slows down for a while for the detail shots, then fucks her hard again, pumping in and out while Rey channels the intensity into a stream of broken, messy sobs. She gets a few breaks while he repositions her in various creative ways over and on and around the wooden frame. The trick is staying limp, relaxing into it and and breathing as deeply as the angles allow. Her body is starting to shake again, riding the waves of pleasure-spiked adrenaline as Ben’s thrusts find a place inside her that makes the punishing force and exhausting friction feel so much more than just bearable.

Her next orgasm takes her by surprise. Ben has slowed down a bit again, holding her thighs open from behind, pulling out almost all the way and plunging back in up to the hilt, and something about the pace or the angle or god knows what else sets off a tickle that turns into a shiver that turns into a sudden shock of pleasure that hits from somewhere out of left field. Everything inside Rey clenches up, throbbing and trembling, and Ben swears and grips her thighs hard enough to bruise.

'Jesus fuck, you’re squeezing like a vice,' he groans.

Rey pants for breath, dizzy. She’s never gotten off before just from penetration – she didn’t even know she _could_. Ben pulls out, breathing raggedly, and she feels empty and deprived without him inside her.

'That looked beautiful,' says one of the cameramen, squinting at his preview screen. 'Can we do it again? I want in closer on Kira’s face.'

'Any closer and you’ll be filming up her fucking nose,' Ben snaps. Apparently it’s his turn to be overwhelmed. She’s not going to say anything – he didn’t seem to appreciate her wit on the subject earlier today – but she can tell he’s starting to struggle with control. In fairness, he’s lasted a hell of a long time.

Plom peers over the cameraman’s shoulder, indifferent to Ben’s fraying temper. 'Not enough build-up,' he says, shaking his head. 'I love the forced orgasm concept, Kira, but I want to see you fight it a bit more first. Kylo, really punish her. Make it look like you’re about to split her open.'

'Can I at least flip her over?' Ben says through gritted teeth. This close, Rey can see a muscle jumping in his jaw.

She’s not worried about him for very long, though, because the new position proves even more distracting than the last. He spoils it slightly with his stream of filthy dialogue – you know you want this, dirty slut, gonna make you scream for me, blah blah blah – but every time he hits that spot inside her, the world blanks out and all Rey sees is stars.

By the time Plom finally calls halt, her cunt feels like it’ll be out of commission for the rest of her natural life. She’s tender and exhausted, half-numb but still throbbing erratically. She already agreed that Ben could come on her face, but she kind of regrets having to close her eyes for it because it means she misses his expression after all these hours of build-up. He makes a strangled little sound when he spills – probably too quiet for the cameras – and there’s more of it than Rey expected, hot and viscous as it splashes her cheeks and drips down her chin.

And then they’re done. Just like that, they’re done.

The crew bustle into wrap-up action. Plom is busy with the cameramen, reviewing the footage and swapping observations. Rey, slightly dazed, gropes around for something to wipe the semen off her face. She only realises it’s Ben’s bathrobe after the worst of the damage is done. They’re his body fluids, anyway. Better on his robe than in her eyes.

But she can feel him watching her. 'That’ll teach you to lend me clothes,' she says, aiming for cheeky, but it doesn’t come out quite right. What happens now that they’re done filming? Is she meant to shake his hand or something? She still doesn’t know if enjoying herself at the end like that was a faux pas of some kind. She barely knows Ben, let alone all the other staff and crew who were watching. They’re just here to do a job, and she lost it right in front of them like some kind of nympho porn cliche.

'I was going to take a photo,' says Ben. He sounds mildly disappointed, but not about the bathrobe or the orgasms. 'You’re a fucking mess, bet Twitter would love it.'

Despite her fresh surge of awkwardness, Rey bristles. 'Hey, fuck off. You are _not_ posting pictures of me with jizz all over my face.'

'Why not? Everyone’s going to see it when the film comes out.'

He’s right, of course, but the fact that he sounds so surprised by her refusal is just one more reminder of how severely weird today has been. Rey’s rough plan was to survive her first shoot and collect her paycheck. Finn’s dire warnings aside, she hasn’t actually thought much about how it’ll feel to have the footage out there in the world. 'Yeah, well. One step at a time.'

Ben nods, and without asking he takes the robe from her hands and drapes it clean side down around her shoulders. 'Go take a shower,' he says.

His voice is both very firm and very gentle, and it sets Rey’s teeth on edge. Knowing that he means well doesn’t make it easier to tolerate his coddling. The last thing she needs when she’s already feeling vulnerable is for someone to treat her like a breakdown waiting to happen, but she can’t walk out of the studio stinking like sex just to prove a point as petty as that.

As she plods off to the shower, Ben seems to decide that her compliance is a promising sign. Wrapping a spare towel around his hips, he looks at her through a veil of hair and says, 'I know this is all new, Rey. If you ever need someone to show you the ropes, answer questions–'

'My housemate’s pretty good with that stuff,' says Rey, pausing in the doorway. 'He does porn too, remember?' Even though she enjoyed today far more than she expected to, she’s not ready to let Ben appoint himself her personal sex mentor. The high is well and truly wearing off. She feels sore. Tired. Drained of energy and sick of being looked at and desperate to be alone for a while.

'Right,' says Ben. 'But still. We could get dinner together sometime, or something.'

It would be easier to read him if the man ever cracked a fucking smile, or spoke in something other than that haughty, intense, slightly quavery voice of his. Surely there are better ways to ask for a woman’s number.

Maybe it’s the oxytocin that takes the edge off her pride-stung annoyance. He _did_ just fuck her brains out six ways from Sunday, and mostly she just wants to be left alone, but a quiet little part of her flutters at the thought of seeing him again. 'I’ve always been a big fan of dinner,' she admits reluctantly.

'Good,' says Ben, handing her his phone with bossy authority. 'Give me your number and I’ll let you know when I’m free. My schedule moves around a lot, but I’ll find an evening.'

Oxytocin has a lot to answer for.

But a little while later, as she scrubs off layers of makeup in a white studio bathroom that smells of bleach and lube, Rey finds herself smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


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